


in which enjolras still hasn’t changed his mind, somehow

by carryyourownbanner



Series: mona lisa [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, Pre-Relationship, enjolras knows a lot more than grantaire would like, ”we’re partner’s for a school project” trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21736573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carryyourownbanner/pseuds/carryyourownbanner
Summary: follow-up to “in which tired enjolras is grantaire’s new favorite person.” they meet at R’s to work on the project.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire
Series: mona lisa [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566661
Comments: 13
Kudos: 115





	in which enjolras still hasn’t changed his mind, somehow

Honestly, Grantaire’s still not entirely sure when Enjolras’s skinny jeans became the loose, short shorts he’s wearing now. He’s also not entirely sure what he’s done so far to contribute to the project that has Enjolras smiling at him the way he is, but evidently he’s proven to be somewhat helpful, because Enjolras is /listening/ to him like he’s someone worth listening to, considering his ideas carefully, and even letting Grantaire edit the slideshow without too much close supervision.

He’s never been happier to write about the fucking Renaissance.

Enjolras has his legs crossed, sitting on Grantaire’s full-sized bed and leaning against the wall with one hand on his laptop keyboard and the other scratching behind Gumba’s ear. The shorts are likely for comfort, but he doesn’t know if Enjolras knows how provocative they are. He can /see/ his boxers if he shifts a certain way (not to mention how the looseness leaves little to the imagination) and as much as Grantaire’s trying to be professional here, it’s not easy.

Still, he’s not about to blow this. It’s miraculous enough that he’s even here, anyway. 

“If we want to make it as long as possible to hit the time mark,” Enjolras says, biting his lip, “we should really go into detail about each one. Each artist, each philosopher, each writer, you know?”

Grantaire swallows thickly, refocusing on his own laptop screen. “Yeah. Schaefer said we could use index cards or whatever anyway, so we can do it.”

Enjolras shrugs. “If you need them. I’m thinking the presentation’s gonna be the easiest part, it’s just words on a screen and memorization, but- you’ve got a better eye for design than I do, and it needs to look good- I’ll do a lot of the research if you do the formatting.” He pauses, and Grantaire watches his little icon on the screen add several more identical slides. “If that works for you. I’ll trust you completely on that.”

He nods. “Works for me. When I finish all that- I’ll research my bits.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just look at the sources I find for you and memorize what you need to say, yeah?”

Grantaire stares at him. “Uh- yeah. Yeah.”

He smiles. “Perfect.”

They work in relative silence for the next half hour or so, Enjolras bouncing ideas off of Grantaire until the latter feels comfortable enough to share his own. They’re met with surprising amiability, and more often than not a relieved ‘yes. I’ve been trying to figure out how to do that for twelve years, thank you.’

Eventually Grantaire decides to breach the preset status quo. “Ange?”

“What?”

“When we were texting last night- you said, uh, you’d prefer me over your classmates- will you whip me if I ask why?”

The silence that spans three seconds following his question feels like it lasts a hundred years. “No. No, I won’t whip you- why would I?”

He shrugs. Enjolras goes on.

“Frankly, I just don’t understand why it’s so- monumental to you. You’re smart, and I don’t have you in many of my classes this year, and I miss you. So- don’t worry, I promise this isn’t just because I needed you to make my presentation look pretty or whatever you’re thinking.”

“That’s not what I was thinking.”

“Oh?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

He looks genuinely perplexed. “Isn’t what obvious?”

“You hate my guts, Ange.”

He blinks. He blinks again. He stares at his laptop screen, brows furrowed. 

“Wha- no, I don’t. You get on my nerves sometimes, but that’s my fault. Not yours.”

“I beg to differ.”

“We both have a lot of energy. We just focus it on different things,” Enjolras explains. “You want to enjoy yourself. I can’t enjoy myself unless I know I’ve done something to make sure someone else is happier.”

“You have a /lot/ of assumptions. Is that why you’re here?”

“Is what why, R?”

“You’re doing this to make me happy. Last night, too.”

Enjolras opens his mouth, closing it again shortly after. He shakes his head. “Grantaire-“

“I mean, it worked, I guess. Sorta.”

“Grantaire.”

“Yes?”

“I’m /here/ because you want me to be, and I want me to be. I’ve literally been smiling all afternoon, where have you been?

“Treading on eggshells to make sure you don’t change your mind?” It sounds more like a guess than an answer, and he clenches his teeth. Why is he so bad at this?

But Enjolras doesn’t look away. He sighs, even. “I’m sorry. Look, I want to work with you because I want to get to know you. You’re talented and funny and it’s impossible to ignore you, at any rate, and honestly I wouldn’t ever want to. Do you understand?”

Gumba looks between them, looking just about as bewildered as a dog can. He licks Enjolras’s hand, and the blonde boy smiles. Grantaire can’t help but do the same.

The mood is lightened, somehow, just from Enjolras’s smile.

“You’re using me for my dogs,” he says quietly, but not without amusement. “And now they like you better than me.”

Enjolras chuckles. “Well, I can’t pet /you/, can I? But- Grantaire, answer me. Tell me you understand.”

“It’s kinda hard to. But if it makes you happy, I do. A little.”

And it does make him happy, if the way his grin widens for a few seconds is anything to go by. He looks giddy. Grantaire doesn’t want to misread this, but it almost looks like he’s blushing.

“Okay,” he says, voice tight like he’s trying not to smile. 

“Yeah.”

“Alright. So... once we finish the presentation-“

“Well... we need a visual aid, so... do you think you could recreate-?”

“I- you want me to recreate a renaissance painting?!”

“If you can. I’ll help.”

“Ange, no offense, but have you ever painted anything a day in your life?”

“...no. But-“

“Enjolras.”

“Please?”

And between the oversized hoodie, the puppy dog eyes, and the tiny fucking shorts, Grantaire can’t say no. 

“Yes, you can help. What exactly do I- we- have to do?”

“We have to understand the symbolism. Like, if we did the Mona Lisa, which is maybe a self-portrait, we could do one of us looking ambiguously androgynous.”

“I’ll do you, then. My own mug’d hardly be as pretty as Mona.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “And mine would?”

“Uh- yeah? Duh.”

He laughs. “You’re funny.”

He doesn’t quite know how to reply to that. Still, Enjolras goes back to typing like nothing’s happened. 

“Let’s get the general outline and a list of sources done today. I’ll work on organizing the information on and off until we meet again- how’s tomorrow afternoon?”

Grantaire shrugs. “Sure. Here? Again?”

“Of course. Unless we can’t, in which case, my place is available.”

“Solid plan, in that case. What do you want me to work on, when I get the chance?”

“The painting,” Enjolras says, like the answer had been incredibly obvious. “But don’t worry too much. And because you’re gonna be working so hard on that, I’ll outline the paper. What do you wanna do it on?”

“Is there any gay shit we can write about?”

Enjolras laughs. “Plenty of gay shit. This is the time of Florence, remember? Though I can’t guarantee it’s all happy. Considering men got castrated and burned at the stake.”

“Yikes. What a time to be alive.”

“Then or now?”

He snorts. “Now, you dork.”

“Well! I didn’t know if you had a thing for passionate hidden romances, and all that. Except instead of just achieving a bad relationship with your dad, you get your balls removed.”

“I had no idea you could be so crude, Enjolras.”

“I’m full of surprises lately, it seems.”

“God, you’re a perfect model for a modern-day Mona Lisa. That snide smile of yours is fucking uncanny. It’s like you know everything.”

“Oh? What do I look like I know?”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you that if you know it.”

“Oh, you bastard,” he says, shoving him. “Hm. What do I know? I know Combeferre and Courfeyrac ought to get their shit together and admit they’re utterly in love before graduation in May.”

“Everyone knows that, Enjolras.”

He snorts. “That’s true. Well- maybe I’m just amused. You’re keeping me entertained.”

“You know, some people say the Mona Lisa is smiling because she knows the viewer is in love with her.”

“Do they really?”

“Nope. Just wanted to see if you had any suspicions.”

“Suspicions?” 

“Oh, come on, Ange. You have to know how many people must be a little in love with you.”

To Grantaire’s chagrin, there’s no flash of understanding in his eyes, only utter confusion. “No?”

“Huh.”

“Grantaire-“

“Yeah?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know... individuals, would you?”

“I know one.”

“Who is he?”

“Whoever said it was a he?”

Enjolras stares at him. “I mean- doesn’t everyone know I’m gay?”

“Probably. Yes, it’s a he.”

Is that relief he sees in Enjolras’s eyes? He could be thinking of any boy, though. The elimination of other genders does little to narrow it down. 

The very Mona Lisa-esque smirk on Enjolras’s face /does/.

It’s a wonder Grantaire gets any work done after that. Still, the outline is completed, Grantaire’s got a format for the slides that he’s somewhat happy with, and Enjolras’s list of sources is impeccable and perfect just like everything else he does.

“I’d better go,” Enjolras says after Grantaire tells him so, a mischievous look in his eyes as he stands and picks up his bag and laptop. Grantaire tries not to reach for him. “I’ll text you later. See you at school?”

Grantaire’s mouth is dry. “See you.”

—————

Grantaire barely speaks to or texts anyone the rest of the night, but when he gets a message from a certain person, he can’t help but reply almost immediately.

from: enjolras xx  
would you like to go out Saturday? there’s a Renaissance exhibition in town, thought it could be interesting

to: enjolras xx  
ofc, when?

from: enjolras xx  
we could make it an all-day thing. we could go to lunch before, and then spend the afternoon there and then do whatever? 

to: enjolras xx  
sounds like a plan

from: enjolras xx  
it’s a date, then 

Grantaire can imagine the little smile on his face now, despite only seeing text on the screen.

to: enjolras xx  
you think we can just call you our visual aid and be done with it? I know you’re being a sneaky twat, enjolras, even though you’re really good at it

from: enjolras xx  
;)

to: enjolras xx  
hey, is it a real date, ange?

He’s typing for a minute longer than usual, and Grantaire’s heart skips a beat.

from: enjolras xx  
you’ll find out on saturday, won’t you?

It’s not a no.

Grantaire lets himself hope. To have gained Enjolras as a friend and, potentially, as a boyfriend- it’s enough to make anyone want to believe in it, in him.

And he will. He does. He never stopped.

to: enjolras xx  
I can’t ever say no to you

from: enjolras xx  
huh?  
read 7:32 PM

There is something the Mona Lisa doesn’t know, then. Of course, it’s the only thing Grantaire wishes he didn’t have to explain.


End file.
